


Faith In "Okay"

by TheYesterdayShow



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Actor Tom Holland, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Blind Character, Brief Kissing, Brotherly Love, Buffet, College, Crofters, Denny's, Everyone Is Gay, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Light Angst, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mention of Remus, Panera Bread, Protective Older Brothers, References to Shakespeare, Seriously just implied, Service Dogs, Shopping Malls, barnes & nobles, not too much angst, very briefly though, very specific tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYesterdayShow/pseuds/TheYesterdayShow
Summary: Logan Sanders is blind, and certainly doesn’t need a service dog. His brother, Roman, convinces him to at least try. When Logan finds much more than a dog, how will Roman react?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 105
Collections: Sanders Sides Secret Santa 2019





	Faith In "Okay"

Logan didn't need help.

He never had. Yes, being blind was a . . . limitation. Sometimes he saw it as a disability. Sometimes he sat in a stupor, trying to remember what stars looked like before the accident. Sometimes he bit back tears in the middle of a conversation, not willing to break down in front of people just because they discussed how best to assist him. Sometimes he yelled at his brother for not leaving him alone.

But Logan was also fine. So when his brother, Roman, suggested a guide dog, he was more than a little irritated.

“You keep talking about wanting to be independent!” Roman argued. “Maybe, if you had a guide dog, I could move out!”

That was the argument that kept coming back. That was what Roman wanted. He was tired of always having to help his disabled— _ limited— _ brother, and it was showing. Logan knew Roman wanted to attend a school out of state. He knew that Roman desperately wanted to act, to try out for shows, but never had time.

That was probably why Logan agreed to look into the idea.

It took two weeks for the online application to be approved, then another two to get the phone consultation done. The additional forms to complete hadn't taken too long, but it was another three weeks before anyone could come to complete the home evaluation—see if Logan was physically able to have a guide dog, see if his home was safe for one, etc. It all happened, though, and soon they received the approval notification letting them know they had found two dogs that might match with Logan and that they were ready for him to come stay at campus for the two weeks it took to go over the training course.

The day came to leave. Logan was still unsure about this, but Roman insisted it was too late to back out now—then they would've wasted not just their own time, but countless people's time. So Logan begrudgingly followed Roman to the car. He knew the way down the driveway, but Roman had been struck by some protective urge and not only taken his suitcase from him, but had insisted on making him use his white cane. Ridiculous.

Logan settled in to the familiar worn leather of the passenger seat and felt the warmth of the morning sun on his face. It was pleasant. He could almost pretend that they were going to visit friends, or going out to eat.

Then he felt an arm reaching over his chest, and he slapped Roman away. “I can buckle my own seatbelt,” Logan snapped, but didn't move to pull it around his waist.

“Well, you weren't doing it.”

Grumbling, Logan buckled the seatbelt. On the drive he tried to ignore Roman's incessant noise, show tunes and Disney songs alike blaring from the radio. If his brother didn't insist on singing along, it wouldn't be so bad.

Instead, he tried to clear his mind. Long division generally did the trick, but it wouldn't on this day. He tried some basic trigonometry, but just couldn't focus.

His head kept circling back to the dog. What would it sound like? How big would it be? Would it truly allow him to live alone? He lived within walking distance of both the university he attended and the grocery store, and could technically get to both places without physical help—a GPS speaking into his ear didn't count—but rarely did. His school, CSU, helped him immensely with classes and getting to different areas of the campus. Roman drove him to school every morning and to and from the grocery store.

Deep within, he knew that Roman would never move out. Logan was notoriously bad with money—why did all the bills have to feel the same? Folding them differently could only do so much—and, with how often the store was rearranged, he could never reliably find what he was looking for. The few times he had gone by himself, he'd ended up having to ask for help to identify which can was cream of mushroom soup, which milk was 2%, which carton of strawberries looked the best, if what he was holding was hot pockets or a microwave dinner—and all with a clerk guiding him the sections.

A seeing eye dog couldn't help with those things. Only Roman knew what he—they—needed.

-

“It's good to meet you! Glad you're able to stay with us for the next few weeks. Would I be correct in assuming that you're Logan?”

Logan shook the stranger's hand. “That is my name,” he confirmed.

“I'm Patton Hoyt, and I'll be introducing you to the two dogs we've matched with you! Would you like me to guide you by your arm, or just speak directions?”

Logan's eyebrows rose. That was a first. Generally people did one or the other (usually the first) without asking his preference. Of course, Patton was likely trained to ask. “Spoken directions, please,” he replied.”

Roman still guided him with a hand on his back.

-

“This is Layla, she's a lab retriever. . . .”

-

Layla was fine, Logan supposed. She seemed to know her stuff. She just . . . didn't seem to like Roman. That would be a problem, seeing as how Roman wasn't going to be moving out anytime soon.

“Do you want to meet the other dog? If Layla doesn't feel right, I can be back in fifteen minutes with Crofters.”

“Like the jam?” Logan asked, smiling despite himself. “I had some on toast this morning.”

Patton giggled, somehow small and loud at the same time. “Probably,” he said, a grin in his voice. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Why not?” Logan found himself responding. He didn't really want a service dog, he reminded himself. It would be just perfect for Layla to not work out, so they could go home and forget about this whole thing. Roman was the one who wanted the dog.

He was only agreeing, he realized, because he was afraid of hurting Patton Hoyt's feelings. Logan had never really had much regard for others' feelings, but he liked this Patton. He was kind and considerate and funny. His voice held a bright quality, a constant warmth. Logan didn't want to let Patton down.

Not that Patton would be let down. It was his job to be kind. At the end of the day, he would still get paid. Somehow, though, he got Logan to agree to meeting this dog.

-

Logan knew immediately that Crofters was the one. Instead of licking his hand, or barking at Roman, or ignoring them both completely, Crofters bumped his head gently against Logan's right knee then backed up a step.

“Aww! He nuzzled his noggin! Crofters is usually a bit shy!”

Logan grinned. He still didn't really want a service dog, but he thought maybe he could like this dog. Patton told him about how excited Crofters was, how well he'd done on all his tests, and how much Crofters had enjoyed a sweet potato that had been left out from an employee's lunch. Patton talked a lot, and didn't seem to mind when Logan interrupted to provide random bits of knowledge, or review some of his basic needs in his routine.

Logan was growing . . . attached, he supposed. He begrudgingly admitted that he had been looking forward to the idea of having a dog. Now, he didn't know if he was attached to Patton, or to the idea of having a dog. He supposed he'd find out.

-

Now he knew. He began to know when Patton timidly asked if Crofters was right, and if he wasn't, they could go through the application process again and ask for a different dog. Logan cut Patton off and agreed to begin working with Crofters, because yes, he would love to adopt the golden retriever, and yes, he would be willing to stay on campus for the duration of the two weeks of training. Now, as he patted Crofters's head while Patton explained (even though he'd said the same thing every day for the past week at training) the schedule for the day, he knew.

Logan was certainly very open to the idea of having a seeing eye dog.

He was also experiencing a crush on Patton Hoyt.

-

“I'm just rambling now, aren't I?”

Logan smiled. “Possibly,” he allowed. “However, your rambling is . . . pleasing to listen to.”

Patton laughed. It was almost drowned out by the noise of the buffet.

Six weeks had passed since training ended. Patton had scheduled one meeting (ahem, date, ahem) a week, so they could go over any problems Logan might be experiencing or any questions he had. At least, that was the purpose of the meetings.

“Do you want anything else to eat?”

“No, no,” Logan waved him off. “Whatever the fried item you got me was may be a cause for gastrointestinal surgery.”

Patton giggled again. “It was okra,” he said. “Is Roman picking you up, or do you and Crofters want me to drop you off somewhere?”

“Patton, I believe we should stop, to use a figurative statement, beating around the bush.”

Silence from Patton. Logan heard a rustle and caught a whiff of perfume as someone passed by. A child screeched over the beastly rumble of chatter. Logan took a deep breath. This was going to be hard to bring up, so he worded it in the most detached way possible.

“I have developed feelings of romantic attraction for you.” Wow, that was blunt. Not for the first time in that day alone, Logan wished he could see. Patton's silence didn't tell him if he'd reacted positively or negatively.

“If this makes you uncomfortable, I promise to never bring it up again.”

Silence. Again, Logan spoke, panicking now.

“I apologize for mentioning it. If you would drop me off at the CSU campus, that would be wonderful.”

Finally, Patton spoke, his voice low and sing-songy. “Two bros, chilling in a buffet. Five feet apart 'cuz they're so gay.”

“What?” What was Patton talking about? His verbal cues were giving him nothing—but he liked the sound of 'gay'. That seemed hopeful, didn't it?

“Logan, we haven't said a single word about Crofters all lunch. I was so flustered about trying to get you to like me, I wore a tie.” Patton's voice was shaking. Tears or laughter? Logan wondered frantically. “Logan, you can't see! How were you supposed to notice a tie?”

Then Logan was laughing, and Patton was laughing, an adorable little giggle accompanied by the occasional snort. Their hands ended up clasped over the table, and Logan, almost subconsciously, leaned over the table, somehow knowing that Patton was doing the same thing. Their laughter died down. Logan felt his forehead bump lightly against Patton's, his skin burning at the sudden impact, and he knew he was close enough.

“People are staring,” Patton whispered. Logan shrugged.

“I'm told people stare at me a lot,” he said. “I assume it's usually because I'm staring at them and don't realize.”

“And your dashing good looks,” said Patton playfully. Logan's cheeks burned—he hadn't expected this to happen. He liked where it was going, but what if Patton thought they were moving too fast? Just minutes ago, they'd been colleagues. Now they were . . . romantic interests? It happened so quickly, one could've blinked and missed it. That was surely too fast. Not to mention, Logan had a plethora of special needs. He didn't want to dump them all on someone so—so wonderful!

“Patton,” Logan said before anything could happen, “I've already confessed my attraction. But is it wise to continue? I-I am blind, after all.” The lame excuse fell flat on his ears. Patton seemed to find it a poor reason as well, as he squeezed Logan's hands and whispered a question.

“Would you like me to guide you to my lips, or just speak directions?”

* * *

Roman wasn't upset. He truly wasn't! He was incredibly excited that Logan had a boyfriend. He'd already planned three perfect dates for them, including one that would be enjoyable for Crofters. He'd suggested a road trip to visit family, he was so certain their aunt would love Patton. Just the other day, he'd caught himself daydreaming about what songs would be best for their wedding dance. What could he say? He was an imaginative guy.

No, Roman definitely wasn't upset. But he was worried. He worried that Patton would never figure out exactly how to toast Logan's toast. He worried that Patton would always forget to set up the table correctly. What went where in the fridge. Where to find the type of clothes Logan liked to wear. When to let him walk to school and when to drive him. But most of all, Roman worried that Patton would get tired. Tired of all of Logan's needs and routines. Tired of holding Logan's hand when they crossed the road. Tired of having to shop for him. Tired of not being able to do normal things with him.

He was worried that Patton would abandon his brother, breaking Logan's heart in the process.

So who could blame him for growing more protective?

It all came to a head one day.

“Get in the car, I'll grab your cane. Crofters! Here, boy!” Roman called. Logan had just seen fit to inform him that he had an interview that day. He was certain that Logan would be a wonderful teacher's pet—aide for CSU, where he attended classes, but . . . Roman was going to miss an audition if he took Logan. He'd been really excited about it, too. He was auditioning to play Feste in Shakespeare's  _ Twelfth Night _ , but . . . he found himself doing the math in his head. The drive to CSU was fifteen minutes counting traffic lights, then the interview would likely be longer. Then a good brother would take Logan out to eat, regardless of the results of the interview. The audition was half an hour away, just in the other direction. He couldn't make both. Logan's needs and wants came before his. He knew that.

Needless to say, Roman was very surprised when Logan didn't move. “Come on!” Roman urged. “We don't want to be late.”

“Patton has agreed to provide transportation to the interview. If he doesn't show up, we live within walking distance of the school,” Logan added, forestalling Roman's next argument.

Roman didn't really know what to do with himself. Patton picked up Logan and Crofters. Roman tried to watch TV. He tried to rehearse his monologue. Eventually he left, arriving early at the audition.

It went fine, as far as he could remember. Nothing like the auditions from his high school days, but probably okay. He couldn't stop thinking about Logan—was he safe? Would he get lost? Taken advantage of? Who would comfort him if he failed the interview?

Roman left the theater and drove. He didn't know where he was headed. He drove until he arrived at the mall.

Roman had often had fun at the mall—he and his twin, Remus, had often come here to mess around. He had dozens of pictures of Remus running through the kids' play area, or of he himself posing as a mannequin, dressed in the most uppity clothes they could find. The memories were nice enough to look back on, but they carried a melancholy air. He hadn't seen Remus in four years, since they were eighteen. His twin had moved across the country, scared of the responsibility of their younger brother Logan when their parents had died. Roman had had to grow up fast.

Through the smog of memories, Roman realized he'd wandered into Barnes & Noble, the smell of books reminding him of Logan in a comforting way.

“Welcome to Barnes & Noble. Can I help you find anything?”

Roman spun around. The clerk standing behind him let his bangs fall in front of his face and didn't even try to smile. Roman forgot his woes momentarily as he was struck with a second of gay panic. This clerk was  _ hot _ . Like, skater gruff mountain man mixed with Tom Holland. An emo baby with scruff. The heir to the evil legacy who loves the good prince. The type of dude on the big poster in the window of the shoe store. His eyes caught the nametag—Virgil. Even his  _ name _ was hot.

“Thank you, but I think I've just found what I'm looking for,” Roman found himself flirting. The clerk blushed and averted his eyes, muttering a small “whatever” and walking past. Roman turned to watch him go—was he hot from behind?

He didn't get to know, as the clerk turned as well and met his eyes. “Nice hair,” Virgil said, cheeks still red. “Purple. Looks . . . edgy.”

Roman laughed. A little too hard. It made Virgil smile, though, so maybe it was okay.

“My lunch break's in twenty minutes,” Virgil said. “Can I, uh. Can I get you some Panera?”

-

“—and I wasn't entirely certain that I'd done the character justice, you know? I know it was just a cold reading—”

“Dude, Roman. Calm down. I'm sure you did awesome,” laughed Virgil. The two were sitting in a booth at Denny's, hands entwined over the table.

Virgil was being reasonable, but it was so hard to calm down. Roman tried to change his train of thought and ended up thinking about Logan. His brother was representing CSU at a college fair. Roman had argued against it (“I'll have Crofters and Patton, I will be fine. Fracture a femur at the callbacks and enjoy your outing with your boyfriend.”) but had lost. His mind started spiraling again as he wondered: what if Patton forgot about Logan? What if someone dognapped Crofters? What if someone took advantage of his naive, blind, baby brother, who would be standing proudly at his school's table with a smile and a brochure? What if—

“In for four, Ro. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Breathe, and focus on my voice.”

Roman hadn't realized he was panicking outwardly, but he tried to do as Virgil instructed. The breathing didn't feel like it was helping, though, and soon he ignored the rhythm. He kept thinking about all the dangers Logan was in, and wished he could keep Logan in the safety of their routine, where nothing changed and nothing was unknown.

“Tell me five things you can see.”

Roman hadn't noticed that his eyes were closed. He blinked them open to find his vision blurry with tears. “A beautiful man,” he managed, eyes sweeping over his boyfriend then the restaurant. “Uh. The carpet. That painting of the dogs playing poker. That boy's hat. And the hanging light.”

“I love you, you're doing great. Four things you can touch?”

“The booth, your hand. The table. My phone in my pocket.” When had he become so tired?

“Nice,” Virgil said quietly. “Three things you can hear?”

“Your voice. Music, and the news playing on that TV.”

“Almost done, you're doing awesome. Two things you can smell?”

Roman sniffed. That was easy. “Your lasagna, the syrup from my pancakes.”

“And one thing you can taste.”

Roman licked his lips and grinned. “Your lasagna.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but smiled anyhow. “Feel a bit better?”

Roman nodded. He was still worried, but it was better. The sleepiness that filled his veins made him not want to think about it. He wondered sometimes how Virgil always knew how to calm him down.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Roman took a deep breath, then nodded again.

-

“I have a brother,” Virgil said. They'd finished eating and relocated their conversation to Virgil's pick-up truck. There Roman had spoken his worries, confessed that he couldn't seem to stop being anxious about Logan.

“Not really, I guess. I mean, I think of him as my brother. My parents foster. So he's my foster brother, but that doesn't matter. His name's Dee.” Virgil ran a hand through his hair. He spoke again.

“Dee . . . can't talk. Something happened in his birth home—I dunno if he was born like that, or abuse or what—but it was hard. Hard to not try and take care of him. He's in pain a lot of the time. More often than not, he has to have a feeding tube because swallowing hurts too much.

“It was hard to let him go. Dee's such an individual!” Virgil laughed slightly. “He got into debate when he was thirteen. He's super good at it, too. I just—I couldn't stop worrying. What could someone do to a boy with no voice? A boy who can't say no. A boy who can't yell for help.”

Roman felt a pang of familiarity. He'd had very similar thoughts about Logan.

“When he was sixteen, we got into a fight,” Virgil continued. “He was yelling—I say yelling. His hands were moving angrily—, I was yelling, and he finally snapped. Dee told me I was too protective. He could handle himself. Bunch of other stuff. He ended up telling me that one of us was going to have to move out, and he was fine with it being him.

“I wasn't—he needed help, and our parents could help better than some roommate. So I left. Moved out of state.”

“How?” Roman heard himself whispering. He couldn't imagine ever doing that to Logan.

Virgil shrugged uneasily. “I was pretty mad. I was still anxious, though—for a while I called home every day. Heck, I texted Dee all the time to make sure he was okay. I stopped when he told me to. I got a job, enrolled in a few classes at CSU. It got easier. Dee skypes me on Sundays to ask about my week. It's okay.”

“Logan wouldn't kick me out, though,” Roman said bluntly. “He—”

“Can survive without you.”

“What?”

Virgil smiled and took his hand. “Logan can survive without you,” he repeated. “He has strengths, even if they're different from yours. It's okay to be scared. Scared of someone hurting him. But it sounds like. . . .”

“Yes?”

“It sounds like you're scared of him not needing you.”

Roman felt tears filling his eyes. That—that was it. He hated to admit it, but that was it. “Ay, there's the rub,” he choked out. He collapsed against Virgil's chest, his body shaking with sobs.

“It's okay . . . it's okay,” Virgil murmured.

“I just—I've been there for him since our parents d-died,” Roman sniffled. “My b-brother left us and Lo was so—so lost, and I-I love him so much! I packed his lunch when he was sixteen and drove him to school and got a job and gave up everything! Just to take care of him! He—he's my purpose! He's been my purpose for years! How—how can I just mo-move on?”

“No one expects you to just move on,” Virgil said, tracing small circles on Roman's back. “But I'm here to help you get through this, and so is Logan. It's going to be okay. Depend on us. It's all going to work out. It'll be okay.”

-

“You must be Patton. It's good to meet you,” Virgil said, shaking the bespectacled man's hand. Patton grinned at him, then gently pulled forward the man whose hand he was holding.

“That's me! This is my boyfriend, and his dog, Crofters.”

“Thank you for introducing my dog, Patton,” the man said dryly. Virgil knew his name before he said it. It wasn't just because Logan was attached to Patton, or the fact that his golden retriever was named Crofters, or even the classic sunglasses shielding his eyes. It was the smattering of freckles on his nose. It was the dimple in his right cheek as he smiled fondly in the direction of his boyfriend. It was the slightly round way his voice sounded. There was no doubt that this was Roman's brother.

“I'm Logan. I must presume that you are Virgil?”

Virgil ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. How's the move going?”

Patton grinned. “Really well!” he said excitedly. “I'm definitely picking up on Lo's routines, and Crofters is adjusting too!”

“That's good. Let me know if you need to borrow my truck. Anything for Roman's family.” He tugged awkwardly at his stiff collar. He hated dressing up, but this was for Roman. “Shall we go in, then?”

They walked into the theater, making a chain of sorts: Virgil leading Patton by the hand to the seats he'd already reserved for them, Patton leading Logan by the hand so he didn't run into anyone (something, as Logan pointed out, Crofters could do just fine).

“Do you want to hear Roman's bio?” Patton asked Logan once they were settled in, the program held open in his hands.

“I'm relatively certain I edited it for him, but read on, love,” came Logan's reply.

“'Roman Sanders, Prospero—Roman Sanders is pleased to make his acting debut as Prospero in—'”

The lights flickered. One minute before the show. All around them, people began to sit. Patton closed the program and quietly informed Logan that the show was about to begin.

Then the curtains parted.

Patton watched Logan, hoping he was following the story, and grinned at the look of interest on his boyfriend's face as he settled back into his chair. Everything was okay.

Logan listened closely. He'd heard Roman's lines a million times when his brother rehearsed at home, but this was different. All the characters came together in a complex symphony that made him never want to stop listening. Everything was going okay.

Virgil watched Roman throw his arms dramatically, miming control of a giant storm while Shakespeare sang from his lips. He felt a surge of affection, of love, for the man who had come so far. Everything would be okay.

Roman caught a glimpse of his family in the audience and smiled inwardly. They'd all come, just to see him. Everything was okay. Everything was going okay. Everything would be okay. It was okay to move on.


End file.
